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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25143097">I'll Follow You Into the Dark</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhumpTown/pseuds/WhumpTown'>WhumpTown</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Prodigal Son (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Cancer, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Malcolm Bright, Illnesses, Malcolm Bright Whump, Protective Dani Powell, Sad with a Happy Ending, Sick Malcolm Bright</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:27:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,673</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25143097</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhumpTown/pseuds/WhumpTown</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Brightwell sickfic with a happy ending, please!</p><p>Prompt : chemotherapy for Malcolm</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Malcolm Bright/Dani Powell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>71</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/stlouisphile/gifts">stlouisphile</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Not sure how chemotherapy centered this is...</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Malcolm Bright sits bolt up-right in the bed, his head spinning, and heart racing. His breathing cuts through the room, louder than the soft thrum of the air conditioning in the window by the bed. His body feels disconnected, having no control over his trembling, overheated extremities. He’s sitting in a pool of his own sweat. His shirt plastered to his skin and sticking to his back, drenched. His skin is visibly wet, in the low light glistening. He can feel it cooling across his brow as the air circles through the room.</p><p>Feeling his side of the bed shift suddenly Dani rolls over to see what’s the matter. She eyes him in confusion. It’s not rare for him to get up in the middle of the night. The chemo leaves him exhausted but that means he sleeps odd hours and takes naps in the middle of the day. When he does get up, he’s always cautious. Overly careful so that he doesn’t wake her too. </p><p>“Are you okay?” She sits up in the bed, pulling the cover up to her exposed chest. The cold air bites at her skin, causing goosebumps to pop up. “Malcolm-”</p><p>He throws the bed sheets off of his legs, knees bowing as he rises. Leaning heavily on the nightstand, he takes a tentative step. </p><p>“Malcolm-” she moves to help but he’s making quick, shaky progress on his own. As much as she wants to rush off to his aid… she knows it’s important to him that he's able to be mobile on his own. Things are flexible and understood. He asks for help when he needs it and when he doesn’t… she respectfully worries from a distance. </p><p>She bites her lip as the sound of his gagging eats through the silent apartment. From a distance, she reminds herself. A glass of water never hurt anybody. She pulls the comforter off her body, padding past the bathroom to the kitchen. She takes her time filling a glass of water, knowing he’s not going to want her hovering while he gags. It’s doesn’t take long, with virtually nothing in his stomach there’s not a lot to throw up. </p><p>The dry heaves are worse. </p><p>“You okay?” She steps into the bathroom’s doorway, leaning and waiting.</p><p>He watches her from the floor, neither inviting her in or asking her to leave. Exhaustion is weighing him down and the pain ebbing in isn’t helping. Mostly, he’s in awe of her. The summer months have darkened her skin and hair, both of which are on display in her pajamas. Her skin is warm and bare in only a sports bra and sleeping shorts. </p><p>While he’s sitting on the bathroom floor in the same boxers he’s worn for the better part of four days. There are bruises up and down his side and arms. He gets bruises all the time now. Every day he discovers a new one and from doing nothing. Most days all he can manage is walking from the bed to the couch to the bathroom. </p><p>She <i>knows</i> he’s been wearing those boxers since Wednesday. It’s a little disgusting but she doesn’t care. His thighs no longer make heat coil in her stomach, the muscles thick as he walks around their apartment. His clavicles are pronounced with his sickness, his skin stretched impossible taunt but he still holds her hand through scary movies. He orders take out from her favorite restaurant. Text her in the middle of the day about a bird in their window. </p><p>He’s still Malcolm.</p><p>She hands the water down but he winces. He shakes his head, “I don’t think I can drink that.” His mouth taste awful and his throat is dry but the mint of the toothpaste is going <i>hurt</i> and the water won’t settle in his stomach. </p><p>“When was the last time you had something to eat or drink?” She pulls out a clean rag, wetting the cloth before she crouches down in front of him. They share a silent moment before she starts to pull his shirt off of him. Careful as she moves his arms through each hole. </p><p>He keeps his eyes pinched shut, afraid that if he opens them he’ll cry. He just keeps losing. Every step forward he stumbles three back. Dying holds no dignity. </p><p>The shirt comes free and his flushed chest is able to breathe, to feel the cool air. The touch of the cool rag nearly steals his breath. Gently, she runs the cool rag over his neck and chest. He’s giving in and she’d be lying if she says it doesn't strike fear into her heart. “Do you want to go to the hospital?” </p><p>He sinks into himself, letting her press the cool rag to his feverishly hot skin. “No,” he whispers, moving limply along with her. “I just…” He doesn’t want to go to the hospital. He wants to stay home with her. To sleep in their bed and wake up to the sound of Sunshine chirping along as the sun rises. Not to the nurses doing their rounds. “I’m just having a moment.”</p><p>A moment. A lapse. </p><p>The rag has warmed to the touch of his skin. She rises stiffly, wetting it again with cool water. This time she lays it around the back of his neck, allowing the water to drip down his chest. “Mind if I join your moment?” </p><p>He looks up and she’s biting her lip, <i>anxious</i> that he’s going to turn her away. He’s never been able to tell her no. God, she just… she owns his heart. Doesn’t she know that? Her smiles made his day and if she cries… He’d kill for her. Which might not sound a lot but he’s spent his entire life convincing himself and everyone around him he’s not like his father. For her, though, in a heartbeat, he’d put it to the test.</p><p>He offers her his hand, “no moment of mine is complete without you.” </p><p>She takes his hand, smiling as she sits down on the floor beside him. “You’re incredibly sexy when you say things like that.” She kisses his cheek and lays her head on his shoulder. She rubs his fingers, examining them. The tremors have gotten worse with chemo, a lot of things have. He’s off of a lot of his regular medicine- no more anti-depressants, for example. Of course, the bonus is that his mother no longer tries to give him barbiturates. </p><p>Every coin has two sides. </p><p>“Can I ask you something?” It’s the middle of the night, probably about one in the morning and they’re sitting on the bathroom floor. She’s leaning against him, his hand in hers. He knows that she loves him, she reminds him every waking hour. Glasses of water on his nightstand. Sticky notes on the fridge. Blueberry bagels at dinner. “Why don’t you leave?”</p><p>But they’ve been together for half a year. Six months wherein three of those have been within his diagnoses. </p><p>To her, it sounds like a stupid question. With Malcolm, though, she’s learned there’s no such thing. He’s not testing her or playing with her mind. He’s genuine and scared but she doesn’t have some winded answer for him. No big proclamation but she knows him. “You’d stay for me, wouldn’t you?”</p><p>There’s no question about it. “Of course,” he answers.</p><p>She sits up. She wants to see his eyes. The bags under his eyes are more pronounced than they were half a year ago- Six months. Six months since he asked her out. How many times have they really said they loved each other? “I love you, that’s why I stay.” </p><p>He shakes his head, smiling. His body is weak. His mind sluggish. He needs help showering. She has to drive him to chemotherapy. Wipe vomit off his mouth. Help him in and out of t-shirts. “You have a bad taste in men, you know?”</p><p>She considers him for a moment. Her past boyfriends used to get angry when she wanted to spend time with her friends. Some used to bully her into diets. Once, Khalil called her fat. Another used to get drunk and cuss her out every weekend. Only to come back on the weekdays with roses and empty promises.</p><p>Malcolm has faults. Every human does but he never shames her and he never seeks out ways to hurt her. </p><p>“I do,” she admits. “You are nothing like them though.” She squeezes his hand and blinks away the tears threatening to spill. He’s kind and loving and goofy and handsome and- she could spend all day just sitting with him. Like now. “You’re the best decision I have made in a long time.” She pulls his chin close, kissing him softly. </p><p>He doesn’t pull away, leaning in so that their foreheads are touching. “Even with the cancer and the hospitals and the chemo?” </p><p>She rolls her eyes and kisses him again. “Easily,” she promises. “Even when you leave the toilet seat up and when you micromanage where I put the dishes in the cabinet.” She wraps an arm around his neck, pulling him close. Their limbs all tangled together. “Always, Malcolm.”</p><p>Tears sting his eyes. It seems… impossible. The thought that someone loves him like she does. “You’re-” his voice breaks and he offers her a watery smile. He looks down at their joined hands. “You’re the only reason that I get out of bed.” He laughs as she wipes a tear from his cheek. He finds her eyes again, “the only reason that I keep fighting.”</p><p>She has to bite her lip from crying. “Ditto,” she manages, voice thick with emotion. She leans against his chest, smiling as he wraps his arms around her. Holding her close. </p><p>They sit in their comfortable silence for a long moment. Simply enjoying having one another. Her mind is wandering, thinking about the muffin she had last week. She’s considering how likely JT is to get it for her when she remembers that at lunch today his mother called. Inquiring about their schedule tomorrow. “Your mother called, we’re invited for brunch in the morning.”</p><p>Malcolm groans, leaning his head back on the wall behind them. “Cancer card.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Malcolm shrugs, “I’m calling cancer.”</p><p>Dani frowns in confusion, “Malcolm, that makes no sense-”</p><p>When she looks up, he’s grinning ear-to-ear. Mischievous and chaotic. “Dani,” he says softly, lovingly. “I have cancer. The big C. I can’t take the medicine that’s supposed to balance out my moods. Every so often, a doctor pumps me full of poison and kicks me to the curb.” He smiles, “so, what I’m saying is. Tell her no.”</p><p>Dani is… amazed. She’s created a monster. “You want me to tell your mother… no?”</p><p>Malcolm nods, “I want you to call her and say that I don’t want to leave our warm bed to go eat nasty stuffy rich people food.” It seems like a pretty good idea to him. She’s not going to get mad at him. He’s got cancer. “But if she wants to bring bagels or something later… I might be up for that.”</p><p>She rolls her eyes. A monster. She’s created a monster. “You would deprive your sweet mother of seeing her sick son?” She lays it on thick, frowning disappointingly up at him but she can only hold it for so long. He cracks a grin and she loses it, chuckling darkly. “You’re awful!”</p><p>He is awful but she’s enabled it. </p><p>And they both, simultaneously, wonder if the other knows how much they love one another.</p><p>That Dani loves to watch him sleep. That soft snores he makes when he sleeps. When he holds her hand and his fingers squeeze around hers, like in his dreams he’s lost her and he’s reassuring himself she’s still there. That everyday she kisses him goodbye and that breaks her heart. That his lunchtime text made her day. When he comes to the precinct in sweatpants with coffee or sandwiches for her, JT, GIl, and Edrisa that her heart swells. </p><p>Because he’s thoughtful enough to know each of their orders. </p><p>Malcolm needs her to know that he loves the way she crashes around the apartment. The way she tiptoes around the side of the bed, kicking into the chest at the end and knocking over books on the nightstands. How she’s clumsy and loud when she’s comfortable. That she’s comfortable enough to be a mess around him. How when she gets home she kicks her shoes off and crawls into bed beside him. Tucking herself into his side. </p><p>And it’s that love- that unfaltering, endlessly love that will get them through.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I, genuinely, don't think this will have anymore updates but I had a plot bunny form and I figured... what the hell?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Malcolm wakes up in the hospital. A common occurrence that should be unsettling but simply isn’t, that’s what his life has resolved to. These passing moments of weakness, chills, and hospital lights shining down overhead. The lighting is awful and, if no one noticed before the chemo and the cancer, his pale skin is startlingly clear now. He can’t pretend to be healthy if he can’t even look the part.</p><p>“Oh,” Malcolm rubs the sleep from his eyes, ignoring the rush of lightheadedness that nearly costs him his breath. Because that’s <i>normal</i>, as subjective as normal sounds. The alarming notion at hand is the current Lieutenant of the New York Police Department stretched out in the chair beside him carefree as he eats a cancer pop. </p><p>Malcolm shifts in his chair, glaring at the saline drip that’s replaced the chemo bag he’d fallen asleep attached to. “Well,” Malcolm grumbles under his breath. “Either the chemo's taking my memory or Dani finally wised up and left me to the sharks.” The sharks, in question, are Gil and his mother. The latter of which, he might not be able to see from his vantage point but he can smell her lavender perfume. He’s glad to see that while the scent of his favorite foods have him bent over with nausea at least the cancer has good sense enough to leave his mother alone.  </p><p>If only it would extend him the same favor.</p><p>Rising to his feet, cancer pop held between his teeth as he uses the arms of the chair to stand, Gil chuckles. It’s a dark sound, deep within his chest that Malcolm realizes he hasn’t heard in some time. It becomes startlingly apparent that while Malcolm may be responsible for this one single moment of joy it’s his fault those chuckles disappeared in the first place. </p><p>“Malcolm,” his mother’s voice cuts through the silence. Voice edged with a tone he knows all too well-- disapproval. As he turns his head to face her he’s met with the sight of his mother, Jessica Whitly, hands on her hips and face pinched with what he wouldn't call annoyance but what he wouldn’t call approval either. “Do not call your mother a shark!”</p><p>Nauseous and cold, he can still appreciate getting a rise out of his mother. As Dani would surmise, it’s about the small pleasures in life. It seems as if that’s all he gets out of life anymore, little pleasures. </p><p>Either way, her anger dissipates-- another product of the cancer, no one stays mad at him for too long. She presses a kiss to his temple and pulls at the blanket around his shoulders. “Never-the-less,” she smiles down at him, coy with the quality time she’s being afforded. Too many of her brunches have gone without him at her table-- as it turns out, using his current status of cancer patient gets him out of it. “Danielle-”</p><p>Malcolm clears his throat, interrupting his mother before she can get much further. “Mother,” he amends softly. “She hates it when you call her that.” Danielle Powell, if she were here, would have Malcolm’s ass --cancer or not. And he loves her for that. She seems to be the only person in the whole world who is incapable of overbearing pity. She’ll hold his hand through the puking and wash his hair when he can’t even stand. She <i>won’t</i> coddle and baby. She’ll push him when he rolls over rather than fights. She badgers and irritates and, now more than ever, demands to be the little spoon.</p><p>One thing that they’ve stood to understand between the two of them is that Dani needs breaks. It’s not that <i>Malcolm</i> is too much, that’s something she repeats and rephrases a hundred times each day so that maybe it might sink in his head, but-- the point is-- sometimes the <i>cancer</i> is. </p><p>“Correct,” Jessica sighs. Full names are a formality, one that she affords to her children and, by extension, everyone. “<i>Dani</i>,” she amends, voice taking on an edge making it clear she’s not just making a point to correct herself now. She’s promising she’ll remember it in the future. “Dani, is back at that dreadful apartment of yours procuring a surprise.”</p><p>Malcolm knows <i>exactly</i> what his mother means. Dani is  a never ending surprise. Never mind his diagnosis that came fairly premature in their relationship. It’s the way she takes his breath with tender kisses when he’s least expecting it. Blueberry muffins on Saturday mornings even if he can’t eat them because, sometimes, she just likes to make the apartment smell like <i>home</i>. </p><p>For the sake of fun and to make the ache in his bones seem worth living through, he attempts to get another rise out of his mother. “Chemo <i>and</i> sex?” He whistles low, earning him two chuckles and a gasp. Sure, enough, his mother’s cheeks have brightened with tinges of red. The blush earns him Gil’s chuckle, the older man pleased with his mother’s frustration. “I hate to doubt myself here, I just don’t think that’s going to happen.”</p><p>The nurse, Sally, who has come to unhook him from all these unruly machines and has intimate knowledge of his strange family, is among one of the chuckles. Offering a polite smile to Gil and Jessica, knowing who they are from Dani’s many chemo-filled rants. Meaning, of course, the two women sit and discuss Malcolm’s overbearing-- but loving-- family as he sits and watches from behind heavy lids as his body is, once again, pumped full of poison.  Dani entrusts the nurse with intimate knowledge about them so Sally knows just how joy the couple derives from getting under his poor mother’s skin. </p><p>“Malcolm!” his mother declares. His name comes from the back of her throat, her annoyance pronounced and clear. </p><p>Gil’s chuckle dies like a fire, slowly until there’s nothing left but the embers of amused inflection in his voice. “Kid…” </p><p>Malcolm thanks Sally with a smile, dread taking most of the mirth from the attempt. He knows that the rush of blood to his head as he comes to shift his weight onto his feet will steal any sense of humor he has now. “What,” he asks softly, “just making sure the chemo didn’t steal my sense of humor.” </p><p>He bites down a grunt of pain, the nerves in his legs on fire. He stands despite the pain, one hand leaning back on the edge of the chair. Eyes pressed tightly together, he’s not sure whose hand it is that wraps around his elbow. He just feels thin fingers pressing into his cold flesh. It takes a moment, several seconds of pained silenced, before he straightens himself  and breathes a solid lung full of air. </p><p>As his eyes crack back open, he sees his mother. Her face is pinched, worried, it’s her hand on his elbow. Life is often cruel and unfair but never so cruel as it has been for her. “Hey, mom,” he rasps, all that playful banter from before seeping out of him like a gushing wound. He’s too tired to pretend to be okay.</p><p>Jessica Whitly looks at her only son, her eldest. The boy she thought she lost to his father, the boy too much like her for his own good. She presses a kiss to his forehead, “hello my dear.” After Martin’s arrest, if not for him and Ainsley she wouldn’t have gone on living. Malcolm was the brave one. Silent and studious as he directed them both through reporters so that they might get to the car or to the porch.</p><p>Unfazed. He’s just taken every curve ball life seems to throw at him. He makes her proud… annoyed as well but that’s children for you.</p><p>“Let’s get you home, kid.” Gil takes the back of the wheelchair only a step away from Malcolm now. He smiles softly, at Malcolm. There was once a time when Gil wondered what it would be like to be a father. What does it mean to love someone else more than you’ve loved another person? </p><p>With his hand clutched by a boy-- <i>his</i> boy-- who has long since abandoned his toys for books and college and love, Gil has no doubt in his mind he knows what it’s like to have children. Watching Malcolm suffer silently, biting his lip and clenching his teeth to take a simple step Gil wants nothing as much as he wants to take away Malcolm’s pain. To pull the pain and the cancer and the ailments from Malcolm’s body and if it means putting it in his own body then so be it. </p><p>But Gil can’t do that. He can’t do a thing to help Malcolm and that’s debilitating. <br/>__________</p><p>As Malcolm stands caddied between his mother and Gil, the soft whir of the elevator filling their silence, he considers what it is that Dani’s done this time. She, along with his mother, some very polite construction workers, and electricians, had fixed the elevator two months ago. Back when the treatments were making it hard for him to get up the steps to the apartment. </p><p>Not that he’d complained or even made anyone aware of just how winded the single flight made him. He’d appreciated it none-the-less, especially on days like this. There’s no way he’d make it up the stairs in the shape he’s in right now. He can only imagine how Dani would fix that.</p><p>She’s brilliant. None of this even bothers her. </p><p>The amount of times he’d sat in the middle of the living room floor, unable to go further, and been joined by her. She’s made pillow forts around him. Tucking blankets and pillows around him. After a rough night, she came and slept on the bathroom floor. He was propped up against the wall, her head in his lap so she’d wake each time he got sick. </p><p>At the beginning of their relationship, half of her appeal was that she made no sense to him. It’s been nearly a year and he can’t say that makes sense to him yet. Her love, the way she gives so freely to their relationship--to him--... It makes no rational sense to him. </p><p>But love isn’t rational. He always forgets that.</p><p>“Powell?” Gil shouts as he opens the front door, sweeping the kitchen area and frowning when he sees no one. He turns back to Malcolm, “I don’t know where--”</p><p>Dani sticks her head out of the bathroom, waving, “hey!” </p><p>Swaying where he stands, aching and cold, Malcolm smiles at the sight of her. That smile splitting his face in half as she comes out of the bathroom and greets him with a soft kiss. It knocks the air out of his lungs, most things do these days but there’s nothing he’d rather have knock the air out than her. </p><p>She snags his hand up, “come look what I did.”</p><p>He can’t lie, he’s a little afraid of what damage she’s done this time. The white dust covering her from uncovered toes to the roots of her curly hair is a give away at the kind of mess he’s awaiting. He finds--</p><p>“It’s a tub!” </p><p>JT is still working, bent around some pipe doing the finishing touches with a wrench. Other than that, though, there’s a tub in their bathroom. The walk-in shower gone.</p><p>Admittedly, his first reaction is shame. For the last week he’d needed her help to shower. She’d started to call them communal showers because that’s what they were. He’d stand, head bowed, so she could run shampoo and conditioner through his hair. Some days, she washed his body too. Standing there like that, he found himself wandering how their relationship can go on.</p><p>He’s a burden. Pretty women like Dani Powell can do better than underweight, sickly burdens. </p><p>Dani snaps him from his thoughts with a squeeze of their still joined fingers. “We can have sex in it,” Dani says just loud enough to have JT’s head snap up. </p><p>Malcolm feels that shame being washed away as gently as her fingers through his hair. Dani wanted a tub long before any of this. Before them. </p><p>“That’s disgusting,” JT grumbles, tossing his tools into their bags with a childish puff. He dust his hands off on his pants, pushing off his knees to stand. “That should do it,” he says with a nod. His face though, frowning as he looks between Malcolm and Dani, isn’t approving. Mostly, because Dani’s like his babysitter and Malcolm his weird friend kind of… </p><p>“I’m going to-” JT motions over his shoulder, his ‘goodbye’ awkward but on brand. He wants to get out of here as soon as possible. </p><p>On that note, Gil clears his throat. “I’ll see you both soon,” he steps into the bathroom to pull them both into hugs. Adding generous neck squeezes in. “Behave.” Jessica extends the same generosity, even if her hug with Dani is strange. </p><p>As soon as the door shuts Dani throws her arms up, “bath time!”</p><p>Malcolm hasn’t taken a bath in a long time. The suds are odd but the warmth of the water is entrancing. It sucks him in. Putting him to sleep.</p><p>Dani smiles at him, shutting the door behind her two towels in her hands. As tired as he is, he decides to not question what she’s doing. Instead, moving his head to rest against the side of the tub and watch her in content silence as she moves around the small bathroom. It takes only a moment for him to realize what she’s doing. </p><p>She pulls her shirt up over her head, “ you know, I forget how talkative JT can be.” She walks out of her pants, folding up both garments on the toilet’s lowered lid. “In all fairness,” she mumbles, pausing to stretch her arms behind herself to unhook her bra. “He talked about the baby.” She turns to face him, now stripped to nothing. </p><p>He raises his left hand, offering her something to use to get in the tub. She slips her hand into his, pulling her bottom lip in between her teeth as carefully steps in. “Let me behind you,” she says edging around his lanky limbs until she’s standing in the space he’s created by sitting up.</p><p>It takes a moment of rearranging but the end product is both of them in the chest deep water. Her toenail is digging into his calf and his ass is going numb but between her warm body and the suds piled to his chest he’s putty in her arms. “Thank you,” he exhales in a sigh. It’s a blanket statement, he’d be here all day if he wanted to be more specific. But she understands.</p><p>Dani leans her head back on the edge of the tub, wrapping her arm around his torso. “Well,” she allows her eyes to slide shut. “I wanted a tub anyway. It’s far more selfless to use you as an excuse to install one.”</p><p>Malcolm hums, neither disapproving nor approving. “That’s a genius,” he decides, approving. “Evil genius but I like it.” </p><p>She presses a kiss to his cheek, a silent thank you for approving her idea. </p><p>Silent, they lay until their skin goes prunny and the water gone cold. It’s not about the suds softly popping, just the feeling of each other’s bodies pressed to one another. It’s movement, it’s love.</p>
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